Self Loathing
by amber-goddess
Summary: *Yet another Severitus challange...* Snape has always gone out of his way to make Harry's life as unhappy as possible. A possible explination why...(chap 3 - Harry tells Severus a few home truths during a detention)
1. An evening with Albus

Authors Note: This is my first attempt at Harry Potter fan fiction, so please be gentle with me! I wrote it in response to reading all the wonderful Severitus challenge stories that I've read --- where Professor Snape (*swoons*) is Harry's father. It's a concept that I was thinking about for a while, and reading the other stories made me put pen to paper. It turned out a lot longer than I had originally intended, so I've cut it down into three or four parts to make reading it easier. Hope y'all enjoy!  
  
(I know that the summary and the title might not make much sense when looking at this chapter, but all will be explained later on.)  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Natta. Zilch. Zero. Zip. Get it?  
  
Authors note 2: Gargh!!! This is a repost! I actually posted it yesterday but I bloody erased the dam thing by accident. Sorry about that ---  
  
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Dumbledore let out a satisfied sigh. Smiling contentedly, he leaned back in his armchair and closed his eyes, allowing his hat to droop drunkenly over his forehead.  
  
"Severus," he called out to the darkness beyond his closed eyelids, "That was wonderful. Truly the best tea and crumpets I had ever had the privilege of sampling."  
  
His companion stood a couple of paces away by the desk, carefully clearing away a tarnished silver tea service. Not turning around, he raised a dark eyebrow cynically. "Are you surprised? Potions Making is one step away from Home Economics. It is only natural, therefore, that I am a talented cook."  
  
His voice, lowered to its customary purr, was heavy with ill-disguised bitterness. Albus merely shook his head with a soft chuckle. Snape made no secret of his desire to teach Defense Against the Black Arts ---- and of his dissatisfaction in his post as Potions Master. He would eventually get the job of course - it was inevitable - his knowledge in the field was extensive and he had a real talent for the spells required. But, as Dumbledore had told him repeatedly, the time was not yet right. Patience was a virtue, and one which the black haired teacher was well versed in ---- but that did not stop him from having the occasional grumble. Dumbledore knew better than to take him seriously.  
  
"Yes, I can see the logic in that. Indeed, perhaps you might enjoy spending some time with Madam Griselda in the school kitchens?" He his glittering eyes slid open, face lining in a friendly smirk. "While her cooking is excellent, no doubt, I fear her scones are nothing in comparison to yours, old friend."  
  
Snape, wisely, chose not to answer. Snorting quietly to himself, he glanced over his shoulder as he headed towards the wooden cupboard in the corner of the room. "Care for a drink?"  
  
"Hm? Ah yes, don't mind if I do."  
  
The sallow skinned Head of Slytherin House took a moment to remove the locking charm he had placed on his liquor cabinet. The memory of the time that the Wesley twins had managed to get inside had been more than enough to persuade him to protect it with magic. Two drunk Wesley's was not an experience that he was prepared to risk repeating.  
  
Taking two glass goblets from the lower shelf, he carefully selected a bottle, pouring the amber colored liquid evenly between them. Then, black cape whispering across the stone walk floor, he seated himself in the chair opposite Dumbledore.  
  
Albus eyed the wine he was passed, taking in the aromatic scent with one long breath. "Château Bavorix?"  
  
A nod. "1684."  
  
"A very good year." The silver-bearded man took a long sip, whiskers curling in delight as the liquid warmed the back of his throat. "Exquisite!"  
  
A fire was burning in the grate. It was the only light-source in the darkened room - casting a dancing orange glow across the wall. Snape stared mutely into the blaze, dark eyes glittering dully. Half his face was bathed in gold light, half last in shadows. He seemed momentarily lost. The glass of wine in his hand remained untouched.  
  
Dumbledore watched him closely for a moment.  
  
The tall windows, heavily draped in swathes of black, stared out onto a milky moon. The silence was heavy - though not uncomfortable - and broken only by the crackling of burning wood and the beat of a clock hidden somewhere in the inky gloom.  
  
They had known each other a long time, Severus and he. Though Professor Snape was something of a loner by nature, Albus knew that the Potions Master considered him with a kind of respectful esteem. In their own quiet way, the pair had become close friends. He knew better than anyone the strange moods that sometimes took hold of the younger man. But there were times --- when he got that distant, meditative look in his eyes --- when not even Albus Dumbledore would hazard a guess where his thoughts took him.  
  
"You have not yet tasted your wine, Severus?"  
  
At first it seemed that he did not hear him. He continued to gaze darkly into space, one cheek leaning against a curled fist. Then, after a moment, the dark haired man looked up, frowning mildly. "Hmm? Did you say something?"  
  
"Oh, nothing of consequence. I was simply commenting on the fact that you have not yet tasted your wine."  
  
Snape blinked in confusion, then glanced down at the untouched drink he held in his hand. He dutifully rose the glass to his lips and took a long draught - though it was clear to both Albus and himself that he was doing so through mere politeness.  
  
The aged Headmaster of Hogwarts continued to watch him intently. Resting his chin against his thumb and forefinger, his snowy white eyebrows drawn together, he spoke suddenly.  
  
"I understand that you gave Mr Potter another detention today ---- and also deducted ten house points from Gryffindor."  
  
Snape didn't look up. "The boy had obviously not studied at all last night;" he murmured quietly, "The penalty was justified."  
  
"Don't you think you're a little hard on him?"  
  
The answer came without hesitation. "No."  
  
Albus sighed and shook his head, tall hat now balancing precariously over his forehead. The darkness seemed to gather around them like a subtle curtain, vague and void-like.  
  
When he spoke again, his voice was lowered to a considerate murmur. "When are you going to stop punishing him, Severus?"  
  
"When he learns to study when he is told."  
  
There was a slight pause. "That wasn't to what I was referring, old friend."  
  
A branch of wood collapsed in the grate with a sharp crackle, glowing embers of ash drifting out into the air. The fire flamed high - orange burning reflecting in Snape's fathomless black eyes. His mouth was pressed into a grim line, jaw suddenly clenched firm. He continued to stare bleakly into space.  
  
"I know."  
  
Albus tilted his head slightly as he considered his younger companion. "You cannot blame Harry for what happened --- it wasn't his fault. It wasn't anybody's fault. I can understand your bitterness, but to direct it at the boy is unproductive."  
  
The ghost of a sneer curved on the Slytherin's lips. "Well, I don't know about that," he purred silkily. "It certainly makes me feel better."  
  
"And that is why you spend your evenings brooding alone in your office, is it? Because you feel better?" Dumbledore arched his eyebrows challengingly. "I am old, Serverus, but I am not a fool. Do not try to lie to me. I know you too well for that."  
  
Snape looked sulky for a moment. Leaning his head back against the arm chair, chin buried into the neck of his robes, he allowed his eyelids to slide halfway down his eyes. "This is not a subject which I wish to discuss right now," he murmured wearily.  
  
The other man gave a short laugh. "Well now, there's a surprise. My dear friend, when do you *ever* wish to discuss your past with *anyone*?"  
  
"Then I would have thought that you had got the hint by now," he commented dryly.  
  
Albus steepled his fingers underneath his chin, the action hidden by the lengths of silvery beard cascading down his front. "Let us just say that I was always a slow learner."  
  
"Evidently."  
  
For the most part, Professor Snape retained a polite reverence towards Dumbledore - partly through respect of his wisdom and magical ability, partly gratitude due to the fact that anybody else would have refused a former Death Eater employment. But on these evenings where they gathered for idle socialization, all barriers came down. It was not the meeting of a teacher and headmaster so much as a meeting of old friends. These were the times when Snape was at his frankest --- talking to Albus with an informality that would have shocked an onlooker.  
  
Albus took no offense. Indeed, it was rather nice to be talked to as an equal every now and again. Being the most powerful wizard in the world meant that, while he had many admirers and devotees, he had few true friends. Over the years, Snape had become very dear to him. It hurt him to see someone so close to him in such obvious pain.  
  
"Have you ever considered actually talking to Harry? Telling him the truth? It might help."  
  
The Potions Master gave a hard snort, heavy strands of black hair falling over his pale forehead. "And what good would that do?" he murmured softly, voice as rich as cream. "He despises me, Albus, and its best that it stays that way. The truth would do neither of us any good. Not now."  
  
Dumbldoor leaned forward in his armchair. "He needs a father, Serverus."  
  
"Nonsense. He's fine the way he is. And why disrupt an arrangement that has kept us both happy for the past fifteen years?"  
  
A silver eyebrow was lifted at this comment. "Happy? Harry is not happy, old friend. His longing for a family has not diminished in the least. He hides his pain well --- he is an exceptionally brave boy --- but that does not make him content with his situation. And as for you-" he paused to shake his head, "You are the very personification of melancholy!"  
  
"I would not quite go that far." Snape mumbled in protest.  
  
Albus peered over his half-moon glasses, studying the hook-nosed man intently. "Do not tell me that you have not wondered how it might have been. Had things turned out differently---"  
  
"Had she not gone running to that little snot James at the first sign of trouble you mean?"  
  
"They were in love. You cannot hold that against them," Dumbledore reasoned gently.  
  
Severus turned to look at him now. His eyes glittered dangerously in the firelight, face outlined in a mask of shadow. "Can't I?" he purred darkly.  
  
The headmaster met his gaze with steady determination. "No. You can't. Do not blame them for loving each other, old friend --- she never meant to hurt you."  
  
----But she did though, didn't she?----  
  
Snape gritted his teeth and turned his attention back to the grate. The words burned through his brain, remaining unsaid. He didn't have to say them. Dumbledore already knew.  
  
"But that's why you continue to punish Harry, isn't it?" Albus stared at his friend, gaze strangely sad. He sighed softly. "Because, in some way, you wish to punish her for causing you so much heart ache in the past."  
  
Snape was breathing deeply now. His chest, clothed in his customary black robe, rose and fell with every breath he took. His jaw was clenched, his long pale fingers gripping tightly onto the arms of his chair. He blinked quickly.  
  
"Preposterous," he hissed, hoping that he spoke with more conviction than he felt --- and failing miserably.  
  
There was a heavy silence. The ticking of the clock had somehow become an unbearable series of bangs, clattering in the corner of the room like an artificial heartbeat. Snape's own heart was pounding against his ribs so loudly, it half occurred to him to wonder whether Albus could hear it.  
  
After a long moment, Dumbledore spoke. His voice was low --- barely above a whisper --- soft and gentle, almost fatherly. His eyes shone over his glasses, staring benevolently to the dark-haired man.  
  
"He's your son, Severus."  
  
Snape stiffened at his words. His knuckles were white; he was gripping his chair so tightly. He didn't move --- didn't speak --- simply sat and stared, eyebrows drawn together in a whisper of a frown.  
  
"Do not punish him for being her child."  
  
Severus turned his head and looked sorrowfully to Dumbledore. "You think I punish Harry for being Lily's son?" he whispered, voice breaking unnaturally. He swallowed and shook his head. "Of course I don't. I loved Lily." Taking a deep breath, he looked back to the fire, loosing himself in the dancing flames. "If anything ---- I punish him for being *my* son."  
  
Albus didn't reply. He watched as Professor Snape rose wearily from his seat, shoulders sagging as though carrying a heavy weight. The dark-haired man suddenly seemed so much older than his thirty-seven years. It was not, he supposed, surprising. He had seen more than most men would in a lifetime, and now it looked like it was beginning to take its toll.  
  
Snape looked down tiredly at the headmaster. "It is late. If you'll excuse me, I think it's about time I turned in for the night."  
  
Dumbledore gave a nod, smiling with false cheerfulness. "Of course, of course." He gave a wide, theatrical yawn. "I was just about to suggest the same thing myself."  
  
The Head of Slytherin hesitated slightly and then gave a short bow. Without another word he strode from the room, the skirts of his robe trailing noiselessly after him. The door opened and he stepped through it, disappearing into the darkness beyond. The door closed with a muffled thud.  
  
Severus Snape was gone.  
  
Albus, contrary to what he had told his friend, stayed in the room a while longer, sipping thoughtfully at his barely touched wine. Oh, he had always known the truth about Severus and Harry --- Lily had told him back when she had first discovered that she was pregnant, all those years ago. He remembered that meeting well. In pained him to think of her pretty young face, blotched and tearstained with the terrible secret that she carried. She was carrying the child of a Death Eater. The knowledge had been almost too much for her to bear.  
  
James had been a tower of strength at this time. His love for Lily went beyond any hurt he might have felt at knowing that she slept with Severus -- - he cared for her regardless, and was more than willing to raise the child as his own. They had married soon afterwards.  
  
What happened later, Albus didn't like to think about. Those were dark times for magic folk everywhere and the death of James and Lily Potter had been a devastating blow for them all. Come to think of it, that was about the time that Severus defected from the Evil Lord ----  
  
Sighing deeply, the silver-haired man drowned the last of his drink.  
  
He hadn't lied earlier. It was good wine.  
  
Gathering his purple robes about him, he rose and began to make his way to his bedchambers. He had a parent-teacher committee meeting first thing in the morning, and he had a feeling that it was going to be a long day. 


	2. Memory Lane

Authors note: Well, thank you to all those who have reviewed so far --- it always makes my day to read peoples comments ;) I hope that Snape doesn't seem too OC in this chapter. I tried to keep him as real as possible, but I'm not sure. Hope you like it anyway! Happy New Year everybody! (I've just re-beta read this. Hopefully the spelling makes more sense now--- -)  
  
  
  
Severus Snape's quarters were located in the west wing of the castle in the teacher's area. The Hogwort's teacher's rooms were all grouped together in a region of the building distant from the student's dormitories, but even here Snape chose to remain a recluse. His quarters - at his own request - were slightly distant to the rest, at the very end of the corridor. It suited him that way.  
  
The castle was silent at this late hour, both children and adults having long gone to bed. He was starting to regret having stayed up so late himself. He had a class full of first year Gryffindor's immediately after breakfast the next morning --- something which always set him in a bad mood. It was going to be a long day. The last thing he needed was a headache from lack of sleep.  
  
Striding down the darkened hallway, he unlocked the door to his chambers and stepped in, being careful to lock up once he was inside. That done, he heaved a weary sigh. He was tired. His evening chats with Albus always went on for longer than he planned --- particularly when the ancient magician got it into his head to try and get Severus to talk about his past. He just didn't seem to get the hint that the Potions Master did not like discussing his private matters. It brought up too many old ghosts.  
  
Snape was not one to wear his heart on his sleeve. There were many long and dark chapters of his life that he would much rather forget all together. But it was always nice that Albus tried. Severus knew that he only did it from a fatherly benevolence, rather than some kind of morbid curiosity.  
  
Severus had never known his father. He had never known his mother. In all of his long and lonely life, Albus Dumbledore was the closest thing to parental love he had ever known. He had been a guiding influence when he had been a boy in Hogwarts, helping him get into a top Wizarding University, and then - after he had defected from the Death Eaters - he had been the one who had seen to his eventual rehabilitation. If it hadn't been for Dumbledore's vast influence, the Ministry of Magic would have probably thrown him in Azkaban to the mercy of the Dementors - a fate suffered by most of Voldemort's supporters that were captured.  
  
Snape had been lucky ---- and he knew who he had to thank for that. As long as he lived, he would be grateful to Albus for giving him that second chance.  
  
Lighting a candle with a spark from the tip of his wand, the sallow-skinned man began to undress for bed. Removing his outer robe, he folded it neatly and placed it on the back of a nearby chair. The room itself was meticulously tidy - much like Snape himself. Unlike many of the rooms in the castle, there was neither dust nor cobwebs, the mahogany wood furniture polished until the surfaces shone like dark mirrors. The only slight sign of disorder was the cluttered bookshelf leaning against the far wall.  
  
Crowded with ancient leather-bound volumes, it was his pride and joy. People, he had never truly understood, but books ---- ah, books he could comprehend with ease. Always a studious child, it had been the dark arts that had long fascinated him - a quick glance along the titles of texts would have left new in doubt of that. Ancient Hexes of the Brochen ---- Torture Charms of the Later Ages ---- One thousand Uses for Human Flesh ---- Snape had them all, many of them first editions. It was a collection that any serious student of the black arts would have given his right arm to simply glance through.  
  
He was drawn suddenly from his thoughts by a tingle in his arm. He looked down quickly, a ghost of a frown drawing his eyebrows together. His outer robe removed, he now stood dressed in a white under-shirt. One sleeve unbuttoned, his pale forearm lay exposed --- the faint pink scar looking unusually conspicuous in the flickering candle light.  
  
He stared at it dully for a moment, then, raising his other hand, he traced a finger lightly over the mutilated skin. It had been a part of him for so long now; there were times he found himself forgetting that it was there. But then there would be a tingle --- an ache --- a sting --- and it would all come rushing back to him. It was Lord Voldemort's little way of reminding his old followers, both wayward or faithful, that he was still alive --- still plotting.  
  
To think that something so vile was forever scarred into his flesh made the Potion's Master shudder. He quickly looked away. He had been so foolish in his youth. If he had his time again, he would have done things a lot differently.  
  
And then maybe Lily and he would have ----  
  
He inwardly cursed himself. Why was he thinking of this now? Albus's talking had brought back a lot of old memories for Severus, and he wasn't sure that he liked it. As far as the Harry question was concerned, the less he thought of it the better.  
  
Thoughts of sleep were suddenly distant from his mind. He sat himself down at the desk near the window, picking up a spare sheet of parchment and a quill. It would have surprised his students to learn that Severus Snape was, in fact, artistically gifted. Not quite enough to be hailed as the next Da Vinci perhaps, but he was certainly exceptional.  
  
It was a secret he guarded well. It wouldn't do much for his carefully cultured reputation if people learned that the feared Head of Slytherin often spent his evenings sketching miniature art works.  
  
The quill nib swiftly traced the outline of a face he knew well. Onyx eyes clouded with concentration, he drew in the facial features --- the nose, the hair, the eyes ---- ah yes, the eyes. Their exact expression was difficult to capture, but he was pleased with the result. He wished that he had remembered his colored inks. It didn't look right - not without the emerald tint in the eyes.  
  
Hand brushing lightly over the surface of the parchment, Severus worked long into the night.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------  
  
*sixteen years earlier*  
  
The wind whistled outside the castle walls, rain lashing against the closed window-shutters. The candles were dancing wildly in the cold draughts, flickering shadows looming in the corners, dull yellow light pooling over the stone-work floor.  
  
The man leaned his arm against the cold wall, eyes screwed tightly shut. He had his back to the nearby woman. He didn't want her to see the grief she was causing him.  
  
"Why did you come here?"  
  
She stirred at the sound of his voice. It was horse and low --- broken.  
  
"I wanted to tell you in person," she murmured quietly. Her green eyes were fixed on the back of his head. "I owed you that much."  
  
Still not turning around, he attempted to sneer, but found that he couldn't. "So you thought you'd come and see the damage you've caused for yourself did you?" he spat accusingly.  
  
Lily winced at the accusation. "That's not true, Severus."  
  
"Oh, isn't it?" The dark haired man swayed slightly on his feet, suddenly doubting if his knees had the strength to hold him. He leaned his weight further on his arm to steady himself. "No, no --- of course it isn't. How stupid of me! Dear, sweet Lily Evans would never do anything so callous."  
  
Her lower lip trembled. "Why do you say these things?"  
  
"Because it's the truth!" he snapped, whirling around on his heel in a blaze of black robes. His onyx glare burned darkly, hair falling unheeded over his white forehead. "Because I'm tired of watching you play this stupid charade!"  
  
"There is no charade. I love him."  
  
Her words stung him like no physical wounds ever could have. There was, of course, no question of who *he* was. James Potter - Lily's best friend. The most popular, most attractive, most honorable student that Hogwarts had ever known.  
  
The thought made bitter hatred fill the space where his heart used to beat.  
  
"How can you love him?" he growled icily, taking a slow step forwards. "You love me."  
  
There was a silence. Outside, the distant rumble of thunder rebounded around the castle's stone walls. The heavens had seemingly unleashed all their fury that night. Lightning flashed over the bleak hills, stinging sheets of rain obscuring the darkened landscape.  
  
Slowly, firmly, Lily shook her head. "No Severus --- I don't love you."  
  
He flinched visibly. "How can you say that? After everything that's happened between us ---?"  
  
"One night. That was all it was. One night."  
  
His face suddenly hardened. "It was more than that for me," he hissed.  
  
She sighed and looked away, a thick curtain of copper-colored hair obscuring her eyes. "I know."  
  
"No. No, you don't know. How could you possibly know?" He glared at her coldly, jaw clenched so hard that his words were nothing more than hissed mumble. It was true - Lily Evans would never truly understand how Snape had felt about her. Oh, she might have had a vague idea --- might have been aware that he loved her --- but she would never truly comprehend the depths of his emotions.  
  
He *worshiped* her.  
  
His obsession had started way back in their first year at Hogwarts together. Back then of course he didn't even know what he was feeling - he hardly even knew what girls were - but the years passed and the feeling grew stronger. It was stupid really. It wasn't like they were particularly close - they hardly ever spoke in fact. She hung around with James and his friends while Severus ---- well, Severus preferred to be alone. But whenever Sirus turned his biting 'wit' on the young Slytherin, it was always Lily who stood up to him.  
  
Looking back, it was probably more through pity than of any interest on her part. Snape had appreciated it nonetheless. They had even struck up a kind of casual friendship in their later years at Hogwarts. Both being talented in Potions Making, they had frequently teamed up in Potions class, often staying behind after the other students had long gone.  
  
Those late evenings alone in the Dungeon with Lily had been some of the best memories Snape had to show for a dark and lonely life. He knew that she would never feel the same way, of course. Everyone knew that her heart belonged to James Potter. But that didn't stop the young Severus from dreaming.  
  
And now, so many years later, they were together again. For the last time it seemed.  
  
Lily looked sorrowfully up at his icy glare, trembling hands clasped at her front. She shook her head sadly. "I never meant to hurt you, Severus --- you must believe that. And I do care about you. You've been such a good friend to me --- I don't know how I would have gotten through these past months without you."  
  
"A good *friend*?" he repeated indignantly. "Is that what I am to you? A shoulder to cry on when your father died? Someone to comfort you while James was away? Good old bloody Severus!"  
  
Lily took a hesitant step closer to him. Reaching foreword, she let her pale hand rest on his forearm, fingers caressing his skin through the heavy velvet material.  
  
"It wasn't like that," she whispered softly, "You know it wasn't. I don't want to lose you, but I can't lie and pretend that I feel something that I don't. I'm so sorry, but that's the way it has to be. I love James."  
  
With as much cold detachment as he could muster, he shrugged her arm off. His chin rose slightly as he sneered down his nose at her.  
  
"Funny, but you didn't seem too concerned with 'dear James' that night, did you?"  
  
Snarling darkly, he turned from her, black robes sweeping behind his as he strode towards the window. She watched him sadly as he leaned heavily against the stone window sill.  
  
"That's not fair," she whispered, hurt by his comment.  
  
No, it wasn't fair. Nothing was ever fair for Severus Snape.  
  
There was a slight pause. "Do you regret what happened?" he asked quietly.  
  
The copper haired woman paused, and then shrugged. "I regret hurting you, and I regret hurting James. But the actual night itself --- no, I don't think so."  
  
He was silent for a moment. Beyond the closed window shutter, he could hear the wind howling over the moors. It seemed somehow appropriate.  
  
When he spoke again, his silky voice was lowered to a barely audible murmur. Three simple words, but ones which consequences were beyond anything he had ever asked before.  
  
"Is it mine?"  
  
Lily swallowed hard and then looked away, emerald eyes closed tightly. Her hand clutched automatically to the front of her dress where, underneath the layers of cherry colored silk, a child was growing.  
  
"Yes, Severus --- it's yours."  
  
He had known all along, but hearing her say it somehow made it real. He sagged forward weakly, resting his forehead against the cold wall. His breath caught in the back of his throat. The child was his. He was a father. The thought made him feel slightly dizzy, as though the floor had been viciously pulled from beneath his feet.  
  
He blinked quickly, staring intently at a minute crack in the grey stonework. "Does James know?"  
  
She nodded mutely. "He wants to marry me."  
  
"And have you agreed?"  
  
Again, she nodded. "We should have done it years ago." She gave a low, unnatural laugh. "I don't know what was stopping us."  
  
He could feel the bitter sting of tears welling behind his eyes. He pressed his lips together forcefully and struggled to regain some control.  
  
Severus never cried.  
  
And what had he been expecting anyway? You could always trust Potter to do the honorable thing.  
  
Letting his thick black hair fall over his brow, he slowly shook his head in a gesture of utter dejection. "And where, might I ask, do I fit into all of this?"  
  
Lily closed her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath. "You don't."  
  
"Ah," he gave an embittered smile. "I might have guessed."  
  
"As far as James and I are concerned, the child will be born a Potter. No one will ever know the truth."  
  
Snape allowed a single tear to slide down his sallow cheek. His back was turned and he knew that she wouldn't see it. Despite his cold demeanor, he was burning inside. "Am I really so repulsive to you," he murmured softly, "That you would go to such lengths to hide what happened?"  
  
She watched him closely, eyebrows drawn together in a look of searching. "Of course not. That's not the reason at all."  
  
"Then why are you doing this to me?!" he snarled suddenly through gritted teeth, hands curled into fists and eyes screwed tightly shut. He half wondered if this was what it felt like to be under the Cruciatus Curse --- it was agony beyond anything he had ever known.  
  
Lily Evans' warm sorrowful eyes suddenly gained a hard glint. Her jaw clenched as she stared at him in disbelief. "Why? Why?? Is this what you want for our child, Severus?! This?!" She waved a hand at the banners hanging from the room. Heavy and black, they were covered in the unmistakable insignia of the skull and snake. The mark of Voldemort. "I will not have my baby growing up and knowing only evil!"  
  
"Evil." Snape mused quietly, in contrast to Lily's impassioned cries. "Your word - not mine. Where you see evil, I see progress."  
  
She shook her head, causing the fiery curls to cascade over her shoulders. "Progress to what? To a brighter tomorrow? He wants to kill Muggles!"  
  
"His views are extreme, I'll admit, but you must see the sense in it."  
  
Lily raised her chin defiantly, raising herself to her full height. "I am a Muggle-born. Would you allow him to kill me? To kill my family?"  
  
The former Slytherin did not answer.  
  
The young woman trembled, staring at him darkly. Her chest rose and fell with heavy breathing, heart thudding against her ribs. His silence told her more than a thousand words could possibly have done. She swallowed, hard, and turned away from him.  
  
"They've changed you, Severus. You're not the man I knew."  
  
Snape listened silently as she moved slowly out of the room, silk skirts rustling like dry leaves. The urge to call out to her --- to beg her to stay --- was overpowering, and it took all of his last resolves of strength to fight it. But what would be the point? She did not love him --- she didn't even like him anymore. He had lost her forever. Nothing could change that now.  
  
The heavy oaken door closed with a resounding bang, and Severus was left alone ---- as he had always been.  
  
He closed his eyes and allowed the silence to surround him. The black banners drifted noiselessly above his head, the metallic thread of the skull and snake glinting wickedly in the candle light. He closed his eyes and surrendered himself to the darkness, bottomless despair swelling inside of him.  
  
Crushed and shaking, he abandoned himself to his anguish.  
  
With an unearthly shriek, he brought a clenched fist down on a nearby table. The wood shattered into a thousand splintered pieces, the fury of his rage giving him renewed strength. Then he unleashed his anger on the chair, picking it up by the leg and smashing it into a wall, reducing it to a pile of kindling. It was as though he had been taken over by an animal -- - a black creature from Hell. All the hurt, all the pain, was suddenly released in a frenzied attack as he set to work at destroying everything in sight. Adrenaline burned through his veins like a dark drug, releasing him from his cold mask of detachment. He felt pleasantly distant from himself. His mind drifted away into blank nothingness, loosing himself in the fury of his blows. He was lost to his rage.  
  
He pulled the cobwebbed candelabra down onto the stone floor, howling with satisfaction as the candles flamed and died. There was only darkness now, and that suited him just fine. With no furniture left to demolish he turned his fists on the walls, pounding at them with all his strength until his knuckles were bloody wounds. Hot tears spilled down his cheeks, face contorted in pain. All he knew was the hate --- the hurt --- and the bleak despair.  
  
With a final shriek, he sank to his knees and buried his head in his hands. Tortured cries echoed through the devastated room. Cowering in the mist of the desolation he had created, Severus sobbed in unbridled grief. He had lost his beloved Lily, and with her, his unborn child.  
  
He was a broken man.  
  
Time passed, and the ferocity of his tears eventually subsided. Drained and weary, his outburst had left him without the energy to even lift his head. Sniffing quietly, he rocked slowly back and forth on his knees, wishing that there was some black pit he could go and throw himself into. He allowed his head to sink lower, eyes closed. What was the point in getting up? He had nothing left to fight for.  
  
The door opening suddenly behind him threw a patch of yellow into the darkness. The figure stood, silhouetted against the glowing doorway, one hand still resting on the wrought iron handle. Severus didn't look up. He knew who it was.  
  
"The Master has arrived, Severus."  
  
The icy cool voice of Lucius Malfoy drifted through the darkness. If the newcomer felt any surprise at scene of destruction, he did not show it. Unruffled, he smirked and cooly raised an eyebrow.  
  
"You felt the need to do a little spring cleaning, I see. How thoughtful. Lord Voldemort will be pleased by your attention to detail."  
  
Again, Snape did not reply.  
  
Malfoy, undaunted, continued. His words gained a new severity however, voice lowered with seriousness.  
  
"It is time to take your place in our group, my brother. There is no place for you out there anymore. Our Master rewards those who are loyal to him graciously ---- and when the final battle comes - as it surely will - we, the faithful, shall rule by his side."  
  
There was a pregnant pause, the wind outside had risen to phantom scream.  
  
"Are you ready to become a Death Eater, Severus?"  
  
For a long moment, Snape did nothing. Didn't move, didn't speak. Nothing.  
  
Then, slowly, he rose to his feet. Straightening out his black robes, he turned to the expectant Lucius. His oily hair was disheveled, his bone white skin botched and tears stained --- but there was a purpose in his onyx eyes that was unmistakable.  
  
"I am ready, Lucius."  
  
That night, Severus Snape became a Death Eater.  
  
-------------------------------------------------  
  
Dawn's first pale rays were warming the horizon by the time that the Potions Master finally set down his quill. He had taken a long time on this one - he had wanted it to be perfect. And, truth be told, he was quite pleased with the results.  
  
The woman stared back up at him from the parchment. There was no mistaking the face. Soft curtains of cascading curls framed a perfectly molded face, eyes wide and soulful. Lily Evans. Strangely, she was not smiling. He never drew her smiling. He didn't know why ---- maybe it hit too close to home.  
  
Severus paused to consider his latest work, leaning his cheek against one hand. Funny, but with that thoughtful expression he had rendered, she looked an awful lot like Harry ----  
  
Snape shook his head and looked again, but it was gone. Now it was only an ink drawing of a woman he once knew. Nothing of real significance. He didn't know why he bothered really - art was a childish pastime, and one not worth his time and effort.  
  
Shaking his head wearily, the Professor rose from his seat. There didn't seem to be much point in going to bed now, but he could always go down to his Dungeon and set the ingredients out ready for his first lesson.  
  
He paused suddenly, frowning. Taking the drawing in his hand, he opened a draw in the desk and withdrew a folder. The folder was thick with pages upon pages of drawings. Some were worked in water color, some in pencil, some in ink. There was even a number of pastel works thrown in for good measure. But no matter what the style or material, all the pictures were of the same woman. Lily. Hundreds of drawings devoted to her face - the only output of a man's obsession.  
  
Putting the folder back in its place, Severus walked slowly away. 


	3. Home truths

Authors note: Well, this chapter was meant to be a bit longer, but I've had to cut it off early. It does have relevance --- I promise! Hmm.I just realized that I have yet to write a disclaimer. I would just like to point out that everything that I have written previously, and everything that I will write in the future, is based on characters created by Miss JK Rowling, and I own no part of them. There --- said it!  
  
Just in case you read this chapter and have absolutely no idea whats going on - remember in the first chapter, when Albus mentioned that Severus had given Harry another detention? Well, this is a little chapter about the detention ---- Harry may seem a little OC, but I'm not very good at writing him :S  
  
  
  
  
  
Harry Potter stared blankly down at the open spell book, eyes blinking in confusion behind his glasses. A mild frown of irritation furrowed his pale brow. He was supposed to be calculating the exact amount of Wolfs Bane required for a potion of forgetting, and it was making his head spin.  
  
He gave a world-weary sigh and stared longingly into the distance --- wishing the time away. It wouldn't have been so bad if Ron or Hermione was around - then he would have had some, albeit silent, companionship. As it was, he was alone.  
  
Alone with Professor Snape.  
  
For a full hour.  
  
Despite himself, he shuddered.  
  
"Cold, Mr Potter?"  
  
Harry glanced up at the sound of Snape's silky purr. His frown deepened.  
  
"Sorry, sir?"  
  
Sitting at his desk in the front of the Dungeon classroom, quill poised above a sheet of parchment, the sallow-skinned Potions Master arched a dark eyebrow. "I was only inquiring as to whether you were cold, Potter. I understand what a sensitive boy you are ---- I would not wish for such a thing as a cold draught to upset your delicate constitution."  
  
Harry felt the heat rise in his cheeks. Clenching his jaw, he turned his attention hurriedly back to his equations, jaw clenching instinctively. "I'm fine, sir," he told him in the iciest voice he could muster.  
  
----Please, just let him go back to his work ---- please just make him ignore me ----  
  
His mental plea went unheeded. Snape set down his quill, apparently deciding that the young boy had not yet suffered enough. A smirk curved at the corner of his thin mouth.  
  
"You know, Mr Potter, I've been thinking about you --- wondering why you seem to feel this need to disrupt my lessons as often as possible. I believe I have finally reached a conclusion on the matter. Would you like to hear it?"  
  
The boy, wisely, chose to remain silent. He could feel his face burning scarlet with rage and shame. The Professor, however, didn't seem to notice --- or at least if he did, he chose to continue undaunted.  
  
"It is my belief that your obvious faults stem from a natural impertinence. You see, in many ways, children are a lot like dogs. A young dog is bright and attentive --- eager to please. You can teach a pup to do anything, and the environment that that dog finds itself will influence its character and behavior for the rest of its life. However, once it reaches a certain age, the learning capacity virtually shuts off. As they say, you cannot teach an old dog new tricks. Do you see my point?"  
  
Harry lowered his head and continued writing furiously, trying his best to ignore the softly spoken words. It was no good - he could feel Snape's pitiless eyes boring into his skull. His wand hand was burning with the desire to hex him --- to wipe that smug, self-congratulatory smirk off the teachers face once and for all. Oh, there were a thousand things that he would have loved to do to Snape --- and none of them good. Right now he was contemplating how easy it would be to zap him into a toad, or slug, or something else particularly nasty.  
  
"You, Harry Potter, are an old dog. The behavior instilled in you by your Muggle upbringing means that you will never truly be rid of your insolent nature. You cannot teach an old dog --- you can only punish it."  
  
The dark haired boy was seething with ill-disguised rage. He often wondered exactly why it was that Snape seemed to take particular delight in torturing him. Since day one he had been singled out. Not to imply that Snape was particularly nice to anyone, but it bothered Harry the way that it was always he who took the brunt of the teachers malicious nature.  
  
True, he had once saved Harry's life --- and for that he would always be indebted ---- but that was about as far as their relationship went. Snape hated Harry and Harry hated Snape. The dislike was mutual.  
  
But still --- that didn't make the experience any easier to bear.  
  
Gritting his teeth tightly, he took a deep breath and look up. The Professor was watching him intently, dark glee glinting in his fathomless eyes.  
  
"I think I need more Armadillo Bile, sir."  
  
"What's this? No retaliation? No self-righteous come back?" Severus sneered. "Potter boy, you seem to be loosing your edge."  
  
Harry was gripping his quill so tightly that the tips of his fingers had turned white. He wasn't in the mood for Snape's twisted games --- not today. He had been up all night with a particularly long essay of the Wizarding Wars of 1362, and his head was now throbbing painfully.  
  
He blinked and stared at the teacher. Snape stared back through the heavy curtain of black hair. Their was a long moment of silence.  
  
Finally, Harry spoke, voice soft with malice. "What do you want me to say, sir?"  
  
"The truth. Tell me boy --- what do you really think of me?"  
  
The truth? The truth would probably get Harry expelled. Normally, he would have just let the question slip by and gone back to his school work -- - but not today. He wasn't a stubborn or obstinate boy, but he did have pride. He resented being called a dog, and the mood he was in, he wasn't prepared to just ignore the abuse.  
  
If Professor Snape wanted the truth, Harry would give it to him. The knowledge that it would probably cost him half his House Points suddenly seemed inconsequential.  
  
"Truthfully sir, I think you're a bully."  
  
Severus made no movement, save for the lifting of one eyebrow. "Indeed?" he purred. "Go on."  
  
The green eyed boy was a little surprised. He had expected at least some kind of retaliation. This was obviously some kind of ruse to get him into even deeper trouble, but for some reason Harry was willing to play the game, even if it got him detention for life. Severus Snape needed to be told a few home truths --- and Harry was going to be the one to tell him.  
  
His young face gained a hard edge, gaze narrowing. "I think that you're a bitter and twisted old man. You're just a coward that picks on kids to give him some sense of self-importance. You might not be working for Voldemort anymore, but that doesn't make you a nice person --- Dumbledore probably only took you on as a charity case. You have no family --- no friends --- and to be honest, I can understand why. You're cold, you're ugly, and you're mean, and I don't think I've ever hated anyone so much as I hate you."  
  
Harry paused, realizing what he had said, and then looked away. He was breathing hard and shaking with fury. He didn't dare look up. He had stepped over the line and he knew it.  
  
"At least that's my opinion --- *sir*."  
  
His words were met by painfully long silence.  
  
Severus didn't say anything. He stared unblinkingly at the boy with intense onyx eyes. His expression was impossible to read, blank and emotionless --- like a pale mask. There no hint of what he might be thinking or feeling, just a cold detached nothingness.  
  
After a lengthy moment, he seemed to return to himself. He straightened suddenly, ghostly white hands cupping on the desk in front of him, and gave a brief nod. "Very well Potter, you may go."  
  
Harry frowned. That hadn't been the answer that he had been expecting. "Go where?"  
  
"Wherever you want to, boy. Your detention is over."  
  
It took a minute or two for Snape's coldly spoken words to sink in. The young boy paused doubtfully and glanced at the hour-glass on the front desk. He was barely ten minutes into his detention. He wasn't due to leave for the better part of an hour --- and Professor Snape was letting him go? It made no sense.  
  
He blinked quickly behind his glasses. "I'm sorry, sir?"  
  
"Are you deaf as well as condescending, Potter?" Severus scowled darkly at him for a moment longer, then picked up his quill. He turned his attention back to the pile of parchments before him. "I said that your punishment is finished. You may leave."  
  
Harry wasn't sure what to do. The bravo that had filled him only minutes before hand had all but faded away, replaced by a fearful confusion. He had made a big mistake in insulting Snape to his face --- he knew that. There was something dangerous about the way that the Potions Master was bent over his desk. His face was obscured by a heavy curtain of unwashed black-hair, his whole body tensed - poised tautly like a cat waiting to spring.  
  
Harry was motionless for a moment. Then, slowly, he began to gather his books and put them into his bag, all the time watching Snape uneasily. The older man seemed determined to ignore him --- something that did little to comfort the boy. He wondered what devilish plot the Slytherin Head was thinking up. Whatever it was, it probably involved Harry being expelled. Or tortured. Most likely a combination of the two.  
  
He slid out of his chair and began to walk tentatively across the room. Snape continued to work on the sheets of parchment, quill scratching furiously as he made corrections. Harry had almost reached the door when he finaly spoke.  
  
"And Potter?"  
  
Harry froze. "Yes, Professor?"  
  
Severus didn't look up. "You've been looking a little pale of late. I suggest you wrap up against the winter. Wouldn't want anything to upset that delicate constitution of yours now, would we?"  
  
---Smarmy git --- The boy thought to himself. Any regrets that he had felt at telling Snape how he felt suddenly disappeared. Almost. A nagging feeling of guilt was squirming uncomfortably in his gut, but his indignation at the sly remark stopped him from acting on it.  
  
"I'll keep that in mind, sir."  
  
Throwing the door open, Harry Potter strode out of the classroom in a blaze of black robes, emerald eyes flashing.  
  
He didn't give the Professor a second glance. 


End file.
